Knight and Day
by Skyblaze
Summary: SatBK one-shot fic. Sir Lancelot had lead an isolated existence before he met the Knight of the Wind. How does he cope with the changes in his life? Some very mild, one-sided Sonadow


Knight and Day

The cool evening breeze blew the heady scent of woodsmoke across the wooded hillside, the smell of campfires and cooking pots from the village below tickling the nose of the only person stood in the clearing atop the hillside.

As he did every year, Sir Lancelot of the Lake had made this journey to this lonely hillside. He was devoid of his armour, wearing only a thick traveller's cloak and his sword belted at his waist. His face was set, his mouth a grim, pained line.

Pale rays of autumn sunset bathed the granite slab in front of him, shadowing the carefully chiselled letters carved into the stone. Lancelot leaned down, placing a large bundle of pure while lilies on the grave before him.

"Maria…" he sighed, his ungloved fingers tracing the name on the gravestone, "I still miss you, even after all this time." He lowered his head, a single tear trickling from his eye to vanish into his coal-black fur.

"I wish you were here to advise me, to give me the gift of your wisdom the way you so often did. I know I made a vow that when you passed I would never allow myself to become so connected to another again… but something has happened to shake my faith in my vows to their very foundations.

"A new knight came to Camelot. He took everything I thought to be true and sliced it apart. He has turned my world upside down… and yet I cannot bring myself to mind."

Lancelot raised his head from the almost prayerful pose he had been in, the slightest touch of a smile on his face, "I should have been his enemy. He destroyed my King – or the one I thought was my king. He had the audacity to challenge me for my sword. He tore down the foundations that Camelot rested on. I named him 'The Knight of the Wind' and I don't think I have ever named something with such aptitude – for he is like the wind; wild, unpredictable, both gentle and destructive.

"For a time, I faced him as I would any other foe, but then I realised my mistake – he was never my enemy. I had been used, Maria – all of we Knights of the Round Table had been. We were used to create an illusion, to maintain something that was long past its prime. The old traditions had become customs; we had all forgotten why we are what we are. The law of the Round Table was meant to be about protecting the weak and helpless, not exalting ourselves as superior. He reminded us of our true duty."

Lancelot chuckled with painful irony, "Apparently he wasn't content with tearing down our world, then he had to go and rebuild it," Lancelot paused and took a deep breath, "He wields Excalibur, Maria, and the blade acknowledges its master. He's the true heir to the throne of Camelot and I owe him my undying loyalty, but…" Another deep, almost painful breath, "…he doesn't want to stay." His hands clenched helplessly into fists, "He and Merlina… they're trying to return him home. To his land – wherever he comes from. I gather its far, far away and only magic can aid his journey. And yet I… I find that I do not want him to go."

Lancelot slowly unclenched his fists, taking several more deep breaths in an attempt to compose himself. "After you were gone, my life was so empty. I had only my duty, to the king, to God, to the Round Table. That was all that drove me… until I saw him. After our very first fight, thoughts of him consumed me – who was this mystery knight? This masterless warrior from a distant land? How did he beat me – and why did he call me by such a strange name? I could think of nothing else.

"Maria… it is so strange. I remember how just a smile or a laugh from you would light me up inside. When you were happy, so was I. It almost shames me to say it, but he makes me feel the same way. When he smiles, I feel more at peace. His green eyes are like sunlit grass, and they dance when he is happy. I find that I strive to please him, to make him smile or to make him reach out to lay a companionable arm on my shoulder. The contact makes me shiver and I find I crave that feeling almost as much as it frightens me."

His breathing was ragged, now, his voice full of desperation and despair as he continued, "I even thought of speaking to my Mother – after all, the Lady of the Lake is not short of her own magickal power – she gave me my magic boots, you remember. So perhaps she could divine a way to prevent his return to his own lands." His brow furrowed, a troubled look crossing his face, "The thought is… unworthy of a Knight of the Round Table. Gawain would spit on me if he knew. Percival might even be moved to challenge me for such a disloyal act."

"My vows hold me, as does the thought of being brought to such disgrace. But how long can it bind me? My thoughts run wild - and he is in all of them."

Lancelot's dark head was bowed again, this time held down with burning shame and helplessness rather than grief, "But if he is leaving... Yes, if he is leaving then my vow to you still stands. Losing you was almost more than I could bear, if I allow myself to accept him now, and he leaves… then I do not know that I would recover."

He raised his head again, his red eyes burning with determination, "I shall put aside these troubling thoughts. He is my temporary master, until another claims the throne when he is gone. Nothing more. My feelings are irrelevant. I am a Knight of the Round Table, my duty is my life."

He leaned down, quickly kissed the palm of his hand and pressed the hand against the cold granite of the gravestone, "Sleep well, my Maria." He whispered, "I shall not betray my vows to you."

With an elegant bow, he turned and headed down the narrow path to the bottom of the hill where his adopted son, Galahad, waited with their horses.

Lancelot took the reigns of his own black stallion from Galahad and quickly mounted up. Galahad looked at him curiously, his amber eyes glinting in the evening light, "Is everything all right, Father?" Galahad asked, concern colouring his words.

"As well as can be expected," Lancelot replied, his expression carefully controlled, "Come, let us return to Camelot." Lancelot wheeled his mount and began a steady trot back to the castle, moving up to a steady canter when he heard the hoofbeats of Galahad's palomino mare following behind.

They rode about half a mile in silence, the only noise the soft sighing of the wind through the trees, and the chirping of night-time frogs as evening slowly settled in. At last Galahad spoke, "Father, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, Galahad." Lancelot answered easily, glancing briefly over at his white-furred son and noting the worried look on the usually upbeat face.

"When Lord Sonic returns to his own lands, what happens then?"

Lancelot clenched his teeth and fought the urge to simply run from the question, his stomach roiled unpleasantly, worry and guilt churning in his gut.

"Merlina will find Excalibur's new wielder." He answered shortly.

Galahad frowned deeply, "But if King Arthur was merely an illusion, are there even any others of such Noble Blood? Why would she resort to such trickery if there were other heirs available? Besides, how do we know she will not trick us again?"

"Enough, Galahad," Lancelot snapped more sharply than he had intended, "The honour of Camelot will be upheld, a way will be found. That is all that matters."

Galahad shied away from the heat in those words, his golden eyes sad, "I… I apologise, Father. I meant no disrespect."

Lancelot sighed, "No Galahad, it is I who should apologise. You know how these …visits affect me," he said, deliberately not glancing behind to the graveyard. Galahad nodded gravely as Lancelot continued, "These thoughts have troubled me, also, but I have no answers for you. If Lord Sonic does not wish to stay and rule…" his voice almost broke on those words, but he ruthlessly crushed the ache he felt at that thought and went on, "Then we cannot force him. Everyone must be allowed to choose their own path. That is the way of Camelot."

Though softly spoken, the words were very definitely final, offering no room for further debate. Galahad fixed his gaze straight ahead and quietly acknowledged his father's words, all the while fiddling with his gauntlets. Lancelot regarded him for a moment, knowing this to be an expression of nervousness. When he had first adopted Galahad many years ago, his magic powers had been out of control, the lad had been terrified of himself. It was only with the help of the magic gloves that Lancelot had procured from his mother that Galahad had begun to master his abilities - but he hadn't been at all confident in their power to contain his powers at first, so he had fiddled with them constantly, afraid they would slip off or fail to work. So the gesture remained, when nervous or afraid, Galahad would fiddle with his gloves. Lancelot smiled slightly, the expression somewhere between sadness and fondness, remembering those happy days. Galahad's time of being a shy youth was long since past, he was a knight now, brave and valiant. There was no point clinging to the past - that was what had got the kingdom into such trouble in the first place.

And yet… it was easy to try and hold on to the past when the future seemed so empty and bleak. Merlina had foretold the end of the kingdom - a time when the friendly rivalry between himself and Gawain would erupt into something darker. The words hung in his mind like the sword of Damocles.

_Civil War_

Brother against brother, knight against knight, families torn asunder, fear and anger and betrayal everywhere. The very idea brought terror screaming through his very soul. To lose Camelot…

He shook his head. No point worrying about it now. To worry too much about the future was as fruitless and clinging to the past. Forewarned was forearmed - they would do what they could to forestall disaster. The rest was in God's hands.

There, that was better; the sharp edge of fear at their new leader leaving was slowly fading, becoming distant. He could cope with that dull ache. Perhaps it would be of some help if he kept repeating that thought to himself.

Their horses' hooves clattered over the wooden bridge as the came upon the main gate to the city. The guards at the gate admitted them both with a respectful bow. The castle loomed high over the rest of the city, secluded behind its drawbridge and imposing walls.

'_Is it right for us to be so distant from the common people? I am told that Sir Sonic often goes out amongst them; he runs errands for old women, plays games with the children. While we sit above them, holding ourselves apart…_' Lancelot mused to himself.

The huge gates of the castle loomed into view, their dark shadow falling over him until he almost blended with its darkness. Night was falling, now, its chill wind blowing from the lake across the town making a mournful sound like a widow's lament as it blew through the trees and houses.

The guards at the gate bowed as they saw Galahad and Lancelot approach, calling to their fellows inside the walls to open the gate. The huge iron-bound doors swung ponderously open and the two Knights rode in, the clacking of their horse's hooves echoing through the courtyard.

As usual, the courtyard was busy. Several guards and apprentice knights were going diligently through their training drills, the novice knights looking somewhat nervous as they practiced under Sir Lamorak's watchful gaze. A servant girl was drawing water from the central well while other servants were busily lighting torches as night closed in.

None of the other Knights of the Round Table were in evidence. No doubt in the castle or running errands elsewhere.

Galahad and Lancelot dismounted and led their horses to the stable, where a young stable boy took the reigns and led the two horses away.

"If you will excuse me, Father, Sir Percival wished to see me when I returned." Galahad said respectfully.

Lancelot nodded, realising that his devout son would have missed evening prayers to accompany him to the graveyard. His own religious convictions had never been so profound. He believed, of course, but dogma and doctrine was not his forte. Of course, raised as he had been by the Lady of the Lake, he was far more familiar with magic and supernatural that the Church was comfortable with. Strange that his son, with his own remarkable magical gift took such comfort in his Faith.

"Of course, my son. I will see you at the feast tonight." Galahad bowed slightly and left, moving towards the chapel, leaving Lancelot standing alone. With a sigh, the knight turned and headed towards the castle entrance.

Sensing a presence nearby, Lancelot looked up, and all the breath seemed to suddenly leave his body as he saw Sir Sonic standing atop the castle steps, a genial smile on his face, green eyes twinkling in the torchlight.

"Hello Sha… ah, Sir Lancelot." he smiled, tripping over that strange name as he often did.

"Good evening, Your Majesty." Lancelot replied with a brief bow. Sonic winced.

"Ah geez, I told ya not to call me that. My name's Sonic and it ain't that hard of a name to say."Sonic replied, looking deeply uncomfortable at the title. Of course, the Knight of the Wind has a point; he had refused any offer of an official coronation. While he had - reluctantly - taken Arthur's seat at the Round Table, he had also refused to sit on the throne and any attempts to engage him with typical Royal duties had been answered with friendly, helpful suggestions instead of the commands everyone expected.

As a result, Camelot was in some confusion, not knowing how exactly to treat the stranger who wielded the Royal Sword. He didn't even seem to really want to be king, but his natural charisma and leadership skills meant he ended up occupying the role anyway, even without Excalibur to lend legitimacy to his leadership.

At that thought, Lancelot's eyes dropped from Sonic's face to where Caliburn - Excalibur's sealed form - sat in a plain scabbard at Sonic's waist. As well as refusing the throne, the royal apartments and the title of king, Sonic had also refused to wear the scabbard that granted immortality, stating that the idea of immortality was repugnant to him. Life was change and growth and risk, he had said. You aren't really living if there's never any danger.

_Change, growth and risk…_

The words echoed in Lancelot's head, taunting him.

"Listen, I was wondering…" Sonic's voice snapped Lancelot out of his introspection, causing the darker hedgehog to look up and meet Sonic's eyes. The look of uncertain hope in those green depths almost made his heart lurch.

"Yes, your… Sir Sonic?"

"Gawain and Percival are busy, so I wondered if you wanted to come and spar with me?"

All the grim determination he had summoned up in himself by Maria's graveside wavered like a wooden shack in a gale in the face of that request. The logical part of his brain screamed at him to refuse, to coldly turn away… but the look in those emerald eyes held him fast.

"…I'm sure there are many knights who would be honoured to spar with you, Sir Sonic," Lancelot said with meticulous politeness. Hoping by that to escape this obligation… however much some irrational part of him wished otherwise.

Sonic, however, waved that off, "Yeah, I know, but it wouldn't be the same."

Lancelot froze, "Why is that, Your Majesty?" he asked, his throat suddenly going dry. The warm smile on Sonic's face was almost his undoing; it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep his face impassive at the sight of that caring smile.

"I enjoy your company." Sonic said simply.

Lancelot's resolve crumbled like a sandcastle before an encroaching wave. He had long been a solitary man, different from his fellows. He didn't care for the rowdy carousing that Gawain and Lamorak engaged in, and the peace that Galahad and Percival found in religion also escaped him. Maria had been his only true companion, his salvation, the absolute centre of his life. Since her death he had withdrawn so far that few bothered to attempt to engage with him now. Even those he had known for many long years, those he had trained with and fought beside, they all preferred to stay out of his way, as if feeling his grim, cold aura might infect them, too.

He had buried himself entirely within his duties, paying no heed to anything else. He was proud of Galahad, of course. Those rare peaceful moments with his adopted son were among his most treasured memories, but even Galahad was not enough to entirely drag him from his bleak existence, though the lad had tried so hard.

Now this stranger from another land, not even knowing Lancelot at all but with a single look and four words, managed to reach into the darkness and touch Lancelot's very being.

Warmth suffused Lancelot's soul as he looked back into Sonic's eyes, a rare smile touching Lancelot's lips.

"I would be honoured to spar with you, Sonic." he said. He knew this could well be a mistake… but it was worth it. For however long he had with this remarkable knight, he would take it and appreciate it to its fullest. He would not squander this opportunity. He would live life, just as Sonic counselled.

Sonic's answering smile was like the sun coming up.

The End


End file.
